Why Are There Only Twenty Four Hours in a Day?

Watching my Darling Daughter in the bathtub playing with her new boat and Little People the other day, I was struck by how much she likes to laugh as she deftly manipulates the Little People into impossible, fantastical situations. The boat capsizes, and all of the Little People scramble for shelter. They reach an island in the foamy, bubbling bathtub sea; it's her knee, and she laughs deep belly laughs as she pops them off of her knee and back into the sudsy water, making gurgling noises to express how they sound speaking under water. The floating purple hippo water-temperature tester is moved into their sight range: "Oh no!" She cries out for them, "It's the big purple hippo! Ahhhhh!" They jump back into the water, only to encounter the Big Rubber Duckie; more screams of anguish. Anna sure likes to see the Little People in peril, or at the very least in deep discomfort; she finds all of it intensely amusing.

I got to thinking: Maybe the Big Guy in the Sky views us as His Little People, and much like my Darling Daughter, he is amused by placing us into impossible situations and chuckling as we scramble to find a way out of the various predicaments into which we find ourselves thrust without so much as a life jacket. My case in point: the twenty-four hour day.

I believe this is the cruelest joke ever played on a plaything. Anna may roll all over Puppy at night, smooshing him into the bedclothes so he can hardly breathe; she may deftly strip the arms and legs off of the Barbie doll someone gave her, she may place all of her stuffed animals into a big pile
and then hurtle herself onto them at top speed, sending them flying, but all of this pales in comparison with the twenty-four hour day.

I looked at the clock this morning and realized that there are only four more days until I have to return to work. Panic ensued. But there were TWO WEEKS in this vacation! Where did all of that time go? I frantically wracked my brain, trying to figure out what had become of the first week and a half. I spent the first two days in bed with a nasty bug; then, there was graduation - an all-day affair, more or less - then there was the Christmas shopping and present-wrapping: another day gone; one day for cleaning, one for cooking, Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with the family, and two days of painting so our house looked more like a home and less like a white-walled, impersonal space...yes, all of the days were accounted for, and yet - where did that time go?

I look around, and see that our house, with its now beautifully colored walls and accent curtains in each room, has been hit by the Christmas Bomb and requires a good deal of cleaning. But - but - I have so much that needs to be done! Four days left - what a cruel joke! It will take at least a day to get the house clean, and then - syllabi to revise, reading to be done, grad school forms to fill out, course registration - the list of things yet undone that must be completed by January 2nd is staggering. I imagine the big Guy in the Sky is chortling gleefully at my dilemma; I'm in the sudsy water, facing the Big Purple Hippo.

Time flies. When I was a little girl, two weeks seemed such an interminably long period of time. I remember vividly that by about December 27th, I was eager to get back to school; vacation seemed too long and drawn out, there were too many hours in the day to be filled. Now, as an adult, I look woefully at the calendar and wonder how on earth I am to accomplish all that needs doing in such a finite period of time; the days slip by full to bursting, and I despair looking at the trashed family room, library and kitchen, letting my eye wander to the pile of books still to be consulted for material for next term, the folder of syllabi requiring extensive changes and revisions, the grad school letter of acceptance and envelope awaiting a check and a stamp. The dogs are filthy, and need baths desperately. The front porch looks like a bomb hit it; we
must get the trash to the dump! I don't think any of the CDs in our house are actually in their jewel cases.

There are new, unopened painting supplies in the study - I had hoped to get a chance to work on my art over the vacation. There's a stack of pleasure-reading on my nightstand - books I never have the chance to read during a term. My knitting (I was going for a baby blanket) hasn't been touched in days, and will most likely not be touched for days to come. It seems as though I am constantly working, moving, doing something - and yet, there's so much left to do, both necessary and desirable activities. If I don't get to the hair salon, I may be fired for showing up to work with so many split and uneven ends. If I don't take a shower today, my husband may banish me from the bedroom. But how will I ever find the time to squeeze these personal-maintenance activities into an already-crammed schedule of to-dos?

I'm just saying - twenty-four hours. Ha. The Big Guy in the Sky is having a good time playing with his Little People, isn't he?